


to know me as hardly golden

by Cloudnine101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Fallen Angel Castiel, First Kiss, M/M, Pining, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 02:47:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6177142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudnine101/pseuds/Cloudnine101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>What they have found is balance. Castiel would never change it. He is too selfish for that.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	to know me as hardly golden

_1_

"Here you go, buddy," Dean says, sliding the plate across the counter towards him. "Eggs might be a little hot."

Dean is so much softer with him, now, and more careful. Sometimes Castiel wants to shout that he won't break. He's still strong. But he knows that isn't what this is about. Dean's different - alter. Castiel isn't the one who's weakening. But is that the right word for it? What they have found is balance. Castiel would never change it. He is too selfish for that.

Castiel thanks him. He can hear the film Sam's playing next door. It's a Western. Every so often, there's a sound of a gunshot, or a curse word. Castiel's having trouble tuning it out. Dean doesn't seem to mind. He's laughing as he flips more bacon. Castiel looks down at his own full plate, and at Dean's empty one.

"No point in you waiting on me," Dean says, and smiles. Castiel cuts the crusts off his toast, and then makes them into triangles. Dean watches him. "You're a picky eater. It'll taste the same, man. What's wrong with it whole?"

Castiel fights down the urge to apologise. He's allowed to have the things he wants. "I like it this way."

Dean shrugs, and says, "Sure." His sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. Castiel can see the pale marks covering his forearms. That used to be an imbalance between then. Castiel had felt guilty - he hadn't done enough, fought hard enough, been enough. He is. He knows that now. Dean had been brave, too; the only difference between them was that Dean had the marks between them. Castiel turns the words over on his tongue.

"This is very good," Castiel settles on, "thank you."

"No problem." Dean's back is turned to him. "I thought we might go out into town later for groceries. Sam could stay here, right? He's old enough to take care of himself."

The idea of Sam not being capable of that is an amusing one. Castiel chuckles. He can't think of anything witty to say. Dean doesn't mind. He's humming a song they'd heard on the radio yesterday. He'd claimed not to enjoy it at the time. Castiel doesn't know why. It's a nice song.

Castiel knows how he will spend this day. He and Dean will go out into town together, and they won't be able to agree on what to purchase. Dean will snap at him, and Castiel will say something, and then Dean will grab the trolley and march off. They sit in silence in the park for a while, until Castiel can't help but comment on a tree or a passer-by or a rabbit, and Dean comes out of his strop and talks about it with him. They'll pack up the car and go home, Dean carefully not touching him, and Castiel carefully allowing him room.

"What'd you think?" Dean says.

Castiel doesn't want this to be the way it continues. "I don't know," he says, "I thought Sam might be able to go out. We could spend some time in my room. The selection on Netflix is proving admirable."

Dean's mouth is open. This might be a little too much for him to handle, at first. Castiel should go back on his offer. He should offer some breathing space.

"Uh," Dean says. "What?"

"Unless you don't want to, which is perfectly fine. I'll be in my room." Castiel pushes out from the table. "Thank you for breakfast."

"Okay," Dean says, and Castiel opens the door. The corridor's narrow. He bumps into Sam outside - Sam, who has very obviously been listening to their conversation, and who has the sense to look appropriately chastened.

Sam greets him. Castiel rolls his eyes. "I won't tell Dean," he says.

_2_

"You busy?" Dean says, from the doorway. Castiel reaches for the remote. He's becoming particularly involved in this episode, but it had been apparent from the beginning that Wells wasn't a good sort. It would keep.

"No," Castiel says. "I thought you would be gone by now."

"Sam went out." Dean's holding onto his arm as though it's hurting him. When Castiel peers at it, trying to get a better look, Dean drops his hold. "He'll be back in a couple of hours."

"Ah." Castiel nods. "What are you doing here?"

Dean laughs. He mutters something that Castiel can't hear, and then says, more loudly, "I was hoping I could catch that movie you were speaking about, if the offer's still open."

"It is," Castiel says, scooting aside to make way, "although I should warn you, it's a TV show. You may become addicted."

Dean huffs a breath. "Whatever you say." He sits stiffly on the edge of the mattress. The television has been hung above Castiel's bed. Dean said it was a welcoming gift.

"Dean," Castiel says, "you're not going to be comfortable there."

Dean's eyes flicker across to him. His throat bobs. There's always been something captivating about Dean. He smiles like he knows a secret that you don't.

Dean coughs. "I'm good."

"Very well." Castiel presses play, and the scene starts up again. After a moment, Dean begins to lean backwards, pressing himself against the headboard.

"I'm just gonna, uh," Dean says, and he puts his feet up. Fortunately, he doesn't have his boots on. He's wearing the blue socks that Sam bought him as a gift. Dean had been especially pleased with them. They have bees on their heels. "This okay?"

"Yes," Castiel says.

Dean moves a fraction. There's a space between his arm and Castiel's, even though they're sitting side by side. Castiel knows that Dean needs time to close it. He knows that it may never happen, as much as he wants it to, and that saddens him.

Throat bobbing, Dean rubs a hand across his eyes, which slide from the screen to Castiel. Castiel pretends not to notice. He can feel the weight of them pressing against his neck.

Dean falls asleep, eventually, against Castiel's shoulder. It doesn't take long. Sam poles his head around the door at about five, and says that he'll make dinner later. Castiel smiles at him, as best he can. The pressure of the head on his shoulder is fast becoming a distraction, and Castiel is afraid to move lest Dean should wake.

At six, Sam's tentative knock sends Dean startling. His hand clenches on Castiel's hip. "Oh, damn," he says, and rocks backwards. "Sorry, Cas."

"It wasn't a problem," Castiel croaks. His voice is hoarse from disuse. Aside from shushing Dean back into slumber, he hasn't spoken in almost five hours. He's hungry, too. He missed lunch. Dean's watching him, gauging his reaction. Castiel forces a laugh.

_3_

They're sitting in the backseat of the Impala. Dean's arms are coated up to the wrists in mud. He's laughing, breathless and exhausted, one of his legs twisted awkwardly. His jacket's been torn at the shoulder. Castiel smooths his hand over the shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Dean asks. "We made it."

"We did," Castiel agrees, humouring him. It's dark outside - dusk. Castiel's tired. He wants his bed, and the room back at the bunker, and he doesn't want to be here, in the cold. Dean's mouth is drawn tight. Castiel pulls his hand away. "We should be going."

"Yeah," Dean says.

Castiel looks at him. "Somebody has to drive."

"You know, when I first met you," Dean's saying, cutting him off, "I didn't think you were gonna stick around. I mean, as soon as the job was done, you'd be back in Heaven. I didn't - I mean, everybody's a dick to you up there anyway, right?"

Castiel doesn't know how to reply. "There are some things," he says, "that I miss about Heaven."

Dean seems almost angry. "Like what? Like - like Metatron? Like _Balthazar_? Like what? Explain it to me, Cas. 'Cause I thought we'd made something for ourselves down here, but it ain't anything compared to that. I know it, you know it, don't try to gloss it over." Dean folds his arms across his chest.

"I don't know," Castiel says, helplessly. "I can't say that it's the same, because it isn't. But some things are better. I have - objects, now, and people who care for me, you and Sam. And there is peace in that. I have made my peace."

"You're human," Dean says. "You've gotta miss it. Paradise." He's staring out of the windscreen. The light cuts down from the billboard onto his face. He's thinking of his mother.

Castiel climbs forwards into the front seat. He drives them to a diner, and manages to park with minimal damage. He buys them both black coffees with Dean's poker money. His feet are aching; he toes off his boots underneath the table. There's a fine coating of stubble running across Dean's cheeks. He needs to shave. Dean drinks slowly, distracted. Castiel wants to shake him.

"If I could ease your pain," Castiel says, and presses his hand into Dean's, "then I would."

Dean's lip quirks. "That'd be something," he whispers, and it is a whisper, little more than that. He is beautiful. "What're you giggling about?"

"I don't know," Castiel says again, but he can't stop, and soon enough Dean's smiling back.

_4_

Castiel jolts awake on the couch. He can remember the diner, and the drive back home, and picking Sam up from the hotel. After that, he must have slept for some time. There's a crick in his neck and it takes him a moment for all of the regular feelings to settle in his chest.

"Hey, buddy," Dean says, sitting forwards. "How are you feeling? You were pretty beat."

Castiel tugs at the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. It creases. "I'd like some water," he says, and Dean stands up. He comes back a couple of minutes later with a blue glass and a napkin, in case Castiel spills. He looks tired himself. "You must rest. You've been driving."

Dean comes to stand over him. "Only if you do."

Castiel frowns. "You're not a child," he says. "Don't behave like one."

"What are you gonna do about it?" Dean laughs. He sits down, and he sighs. "That feels good." He stretches out his legs. He's changed his clothes. Castiel's in his pyjamas. He tries to think of how it happened. He can't find a way to phrase the question. The window's shut. It's warm; Castiel fights to stop himself from yawning.

"Hey," Dean says, "relax. Take it easy."

Castiel lies back. The ceiling swings away from him. He closes his eyes, and then opens them. Dean's looking at him. Castiel can only see his outline, the pale spaces between his limbs.

_5_

Dean's standing on the roadside. Castiel puts the map back in the drawer and shuts it. Dean turns his head when he approaches. His hands are stuck in his pockets. His back is straight. Castiel touches his arm, once. "We have to go back," he says. "Sam will be wondering where we are."

Dean laughs, without mirth. "I know," he says. "I just - I'm sorry. I had to get out. Couldn't breathe." His voice lowers on the last word.

"The only reason I am happy to fall," Castiel says, "is that now, I won't ever watch you die."

Dean starts. Castiel looks out over the road, and the cars passing. The morning's setting in fully. Dean turns him around, with a press of his hand. His mouth's open. "I'm happy," he says. "I just want you to be happy, too. But you can't be."

"I can." Castiel steps forwards. He winds his fingers around Dean's, and loops them together. The wind blows into the gap between them. Dean's breath is a faint mist. Castiel shivers. "I am happy beside you."

Dean makes a small, frustrated sound. "You've gotta be happy for _yourself_."

Castiel touches his cheek; he traces the line of it. "I am happy," he says.

Dean kisses him gently. It's slow, at first. Dean's lips slide across his own. They're soft. Dean smells of the oil of his car, and shampoo, the blueberry shampoo that Castiel had chosen at the store. It is reverent. It is holy. Castiel clasps Dean's shoulders to try and stop them shaking. Dean's head falls onto his shoulder. They drive back. Every so often, Dean will glance at him, and Castiel will look back. 


End file.
